The Last Will and Testemant of Ginerva M Weasley
by Only Sometimes
Summary: ONE SHOT Ginny uses her will as a way to get back at the ones she once loved.


People started filing into the huge room with the long table in the middle.

People who hadn't expected to be together. Draco Malfoy found himself sitting between Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom, across from Severus Snape. It turned out that all the teachers from Hogwarts, Dumbledore included, found themselves sitting at this table. Along with many students, quite a few former Gryffindors. There were even a few Slytherin, and several from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. All of the students had graduated, Harry, Hermione and Ron had three years before. The war had ended, peace seemed to be with them.

That was why Draco had to sit quietly, his side had lost, or his father's side had.

He avoided the war at all costs. No one paid much attention to him anymore. The same with Crabbe, Goyle and Pansy. They were all in the room, sitting at the table, but not together like they had been before. Things were different now. At the head of the table stood a man, in nice robes, with a briefcase. He looked nervous, glancing around the table. In front of him, on both sides of the table, was the Weasley family. One person was missing, but they had all gotten used to that. The table filled quickly and quietly. The air in the room was thick with discomfort. No one liked what was going on, and no one knew what to say.

"Well," the man in the well dressed robes started, "it seems that everyone is here. I am David Morrisey, lawyer. I am here to read you the last will and testemant of the deceased."

When David said deceased the room shifted. People squirmed in their high back chairs, making sure not to make eye contact with anyone else in the room. A few people watched as David Morrisey went through his briefcase and pulled out a small stack of papers. He straightened the papers, scanned the room, and cleared his throaght. Then, with a knot growing in his stomach, he began to read.

"I, Ginerva M. Weasley, being of sound mind, do declare this to be my last will and testament.

I'm not going to start out telling everyone what they get from me. That's why so many people came, I know already. I requested the room you're in, and for some reason people always obey the orders of the dead. I don't understand why. I'm not about to waste my afterlife haunting anyone.

I'm done with this world.

I have been since I found out I was sick. Oh, my sickness. My disease. The _illness_. It scares all of you still.

It stopped scaring me when I first got to my hospital room. My _illness _is so scary that I got my own room. Nothing special, just an ordinary hospital room at St. Mungo's.

Remember when my father was sent to St. Mungo's? Remember how the entire family fought to see him, along with Harry and Hermione? Remember how scared we all were?

I do.

That doesn't matter to you anymore, I'm long gone. Like we thought he was going to be.

He didn't go. I did.

But no one fought to get into my room. You all left me alone. You were afraid of me. Ashamed of me. My _illness _is a shameful one.

One that none of you understand.

Which is why I was alone.

None of the nurses ever came into my room. They were all afraid of me, afraid they would get what I have.

Exscuce me, _had_.

The first month there I was totally and completely alone. The way all people with my _illness _are. Locked away in their room, not to be spoken to. And then I started hearing voices.

At first I figured I was going insane, but soon realized that it was through the vents. People like me, with the _illness_, were talking through the vents.

I had never been so happy to hear voices. That whole first month the only thing I ever heard was the hum of spells at work and my own breathing.

I wanted them both to stop.

But when the voices started, I pushed a chair up under the vent. I just listened at first, as the voices discussed various things. Everything they knew was old news even to me. They were also trapped, locked away by their families.

People like us were never told anything new.

We were never told anything at all. The voices all sounded older, mainly male. I learned to tell them apart. One day, they started discussing me.

"Did you hear there's a new kid?" the gruffest voice said. I instantly knew they meant me.

"How old is he?" a gentler voice asked that, he hadn't been there as long as the gruff voice. I could tell.

"She." I called out. The loneliness finally got to me, I admitted that was there.

"Well then, who are ya?" the gruff voice asked me. His voice was gruff, but he didn't seem to be.

"Ginny, my name is Ginnny." I said it out loud more to confirm that I was still Ginny than to tell them.

I was almost forgetting.

No one I knew came by to confirm my existance. All of you had already started erasing me, but I never forgot any of you. I would stay awake at night and recreate your faces in my mind to make sure that I will never forget any of you. I won't. It doesn't matter that I'm dead when you read this, and probably pushed to the very back of your minds if I haven't been pushed out completely, all of you are still in my thoughts.

"Never knew a girl could get this..." the softer voice trailed off.

"Yeah well, I beat the odds. Who are you people, anyways?" I asked them. I didn't like talking about how I was a girl with the _illness_. They knew that's what I had because we were all put in the same area of the hospital, away from the other patients. Freaks in a place meant to cure freaks.

"Chip!" the softer voice piped up. He seemed pleased to be able to say that. "Well, that's a nickname for Charles, but everyone cals me Chip."

"Mac." the gruff voice didn't elaborate. He didn't sound as lonely as Chip.

"Food time! Talk to you later!" Chip sounded so much happier knowing that I was there now. Listenting to him, willing to talk. I looked over at my own door to see a plate of food pushed through a slot. Like I said, no one came in the room with people who had the _illness_. And then everything changed.

After I had been living that way for a month, all alone, only speaking to people who's faces I would never see through the vents of a hospital that feared me, I got a roommate.

I freaked out, I thought I'd get her sick.

A nurse even walked her in the room, and then put a hand on my shoulder to calm me down. That hand did calm me down. That had been my first human contact in a long time. She wasn't scared and my new roomie volunteered to explain everything to me.

She didn't have the _illness_, but she also didn't fear me.

And then she started explaining why.

Muggles had found my illness, discovered there was no cure, but now knew how it spread. Not by being in the same room as I was made to believe. Through bodily fluids. Now you're all probably wondering how little old me could swap bodily fluids with someone with the _illness_.

I was supposed to be sweet and innocent, not swapping anything.

Guess what, there was more than one war going on while the rest of the wizarding world was off fighting. I was cast to the side, again.

Did no one remember the Chamber? What happened to me there?

I guess not.

If you had maybe then I wouldn't have been left alone. To remember everything. The way I was violated like that in the chamber.

The only cure I could find was damaging myself. I found sex and drugs. Shocking, huh Mum? Your baby girl caught the _illness _like that.

I suppose it might have been that tattoo I got, through the needle. If someone had told me not to, I swear to Merlin I would not have done any of that.

I would still be okay. I might sound like a selfish bitch right now, but it's true. Any of you in the room with the long table down the middle could have saved my life.

Instead I'm dead.

And your all off living your fucking lives, trying to forget me! It's not fair!

Okay, I'll try and calm down now.

Promise.

My roommate's name is Dana. Her family was all muggle, so she knew before anyone else.

She knew that it was safe to stay in a room with me while she waited to recover from her surgery. She is the nicest person I met in my short life.

She talked to me, caught me up on current events, but couldn't stay long.

She was about to get married, when she recovered, and go back to Scotland. After three days of being normal, Dana had to go. She hugged me goodbye.

I cried when she did that.

That was the first time since I found out about the _illness _that I cried. I also remember how I was told I was sick.

It was at a routine check up, an average blood test.

The test came back with results that are not average.

The nurse who tested me carefully explained what it all meant. She was careful not to touch me. And then I she escorted me to St. Mungo's where they locked me up.

That same nurse sent a letter to the Burrow. I hope you notice how I didn't say home.

My family sent my clothes, a few of my things. No note, nothing to comfort me. I knew what that meant. It meant shame.

It meant that it was time to start telling people, using as few words as possible, when they asked about me, that I had the _illness_.

Then drop the subject.

No one likes to talk about it. I had barely heard about it until I was told I had it. Did all of you try and learn about it as soon as you heard I have it?

Exscuce me again, had it.

If you did you probably heard that you wouldn't have gotten it if you came and saw me. Stopped by just once. Given me someone to talk to besides Dana who left, and Mac and Chip through the vents. None of us went by our full names, isn't that odd? They became the best friends I ever had in about a month. Now that must be even stranger. All you people I've known since childhood did not compare to them, and I never even saw their faces.

Even though I'll never get the answer, I have to ask this:

Why didn't you come? Were you not sure what to say?

It wouldn't matter to me. You could have yelled at me for getting the illness. You could have threatened me, cussed at me, hexed me.

I would still have loved you for coming.

Mum, did you have no motherly advice?

Dad, didn't you want to slowly shake your head at me in person?

Did none of my brother's have nothing to say? Did the great Draco Malfoy not feel the need to come and torture me?

Surely at least one of my teachers had something to say to me.

Dumbledore! You've been around forever! You've seen everything! Surely you know how to calm me down.

Remus Lupin, I know you've been battling something a tad bit like my _illness _for years, you must have had something to say to me.

No, all your words are saved for Harry.

Harry fucking Potter.

You saved me once, did you lose the ability to do anything like that? Or did you just change your mind.

Hermione. I cannot believe you were the closest thing I had to a sister. You were supposed to be the smartest person around. I guess you're not the most caring. You surely thought of things to say, but did you say them to me?

Of course not. Even after you learned that you wouldn't get the illness just by coming to see me. I hate you. I hate all of you. I could have made a fake will, brought you all in and told you this in person, but I didn't. I knew that if I did, I would lose all the physical strength I had screaming "I HATE YOU!" over and over again.

Mac and Chip died in the same week.

That left me completely alone. The nurses would come in occaisonally, but not much.

They were busy.

What they started doing was bringing me old books. Old muggle books. Now, you must be proud.

I was reading! By choice!

I loved Alice in Wonderland and Peter Pan. It was reading those stories that I decided I wouldn't go into the usual afterlife.

Don't worry, I'm not going to haunt any of you. If you wouldn't waste your time on me while I was alive, why should I waste my time on you when I'm dead?

I decided I'm either going to Neverland or Wonderland, which ever land will let me in. That way, I don't have to deal with mopey dead people. Or any of you as you all burn in hell.

Well, there. I wrote my will. And I almost forgot the most important part! You see, Mac and Chip both had quite a it of money, and they both left it all to me.

Their families abandoned them, too.

My best friends left me so much, I can't even count it. Now I'm sure I have everyone's attention.

Money.

It's a nice word, in some ways.

So is life.

I don't have that, so why should you have money? This is my way of saying no one in this room will be getting a damn thing from me.

It's all going to research. The research to find a cure of the _illness_.

Dying of this hurts more than I care to write about. I do hope my lawyer is doing a good job reading all of this to you, is he capturing my expressions? T

he way my voice becomes squeaky after awhile? I hope he is. That's the only way you'll ever hear me speak in any way again. If you had come to see me, you might remember better.

I'll admit, this whole will is a futile attempt to make all of you remember me a little bit longer. Maybe my words will bore into your soul more than I ever could alive.

I've been in this hospital for over a year as I write this, again. I've written several wills. This is my final, for sure. All the others weren't able to say what I really meant.

Burn in hell.

I think that says it. No, I know it says it. I want all of you to pay for what you've done to me while I'm off in Wonderland. It is there I will be crowned Queen Bitch. My first act as queen will be banning the _illness_. I don't know who I hate more, all of you, or the _illness_. It is the combination that killed me.

There is no funeral. My body is being sent to be researched so that it can help cure the illness. I don't want anyone else to have to deal with it. Not even any of you, no matter how much you all deserve it.

Okay, this will is long enough. I'm signing off now. My last words are not instructing you to burn, or informing you of my never dying hatred, but to say that I hate the illness. Both of them. I hate HIV for turning into AIDS and AIDS for making me die alone.

The late,

Ginerva M. Weasley

David looked up and examined the room. No one said anything. What could they say? They just all slowly left, filing out in a neat line, all watching their feet. Perhaps they were crying. Or maybe they were laughing. Most likely, they were thinking. Trying to figure out if Ginny was really so shameful that she deserved to die. They'll never be able to tell her.


End file.
